


Things Fall Apart

by Molly



Series: Interiors [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash, ep-tag:TS.323-324.Sentinel2, sentinel, series:interiors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-21
Updated: 2008-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:43:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly/pseuds/Molly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>In which Sentinel Too is resolved to my satisfaction, without recourse to theologically insupportable animal spirit guides or guest star appearances by dead Chopec shamans.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Fall Apart

"No."

Simon held onto Jim because he had to, because not to hold on would be to give in to despair. He couldn't see clearly for tears, couldn't breath around jackhammer pounding of his heart, and he couldn't -- _couldn't_ \-- let go of Jim Ellison. He'd let go of enough for one day, by God, enough for a lifetime. Simon held on.

"No!" The cry was harsh and ragged, lost, betrayed. "No, damn it, Simon..."

The day was bright, the sky a high and crystal blue. The chill in the air had bite, wind, a vitality impossible to process. There was sunlight. Goddamn it to hell. There was _sun_.

"Jim," the captain said, trying for calm. Trying for rational. "He's gone--"

"NO!" Something changed in the man he held, something broke, and Ellison was out of Simon's grasp. Out of his reach, charging across the space that separated him from his partner. The denial was a roar in Simon's ears, loud enough to hurt, the cry of a wounded animal.

The world shattered on the rock of understanding. He'd lost them both.

Nothing -- _nothing_ \-- could ever be the same.

* * *

In darkness and warmth, Blair Sandburg drifted. There was peace here, surcease from pain. There was no sunlight. There was no sound. His eyes moved without seeing, tracking aimlessly. He drifted, and waited, and wondered, vaguely...casually...

...what might happen next...

...what he wanted...

...what was expected of him in this place that was no place at all...

Or if, in fact, anything would ever be expected of him again.

That thought...

Brought pain.

* * *

"Let me through."

"Sir, you can't--"

Jim dispensed with words, and moved the man out of his way. Blair lay still and cold, and there was no heartbeat singing to him from that immobile chest. There was no breath whispering to him. There was nothing of Blair in the body that lay before him, but it was all he had to work with, all he had left, and he would not leave it. Couldn't.

He ignored Simon's order to back off, ignored the indignant cry of the EMT he'd pushed aside. He let go of everything, because suddenly it seemed that might be required. He was ready. He was standing on a cliff in the barren wilderness of his heart with chill waters rushing beneath, flowing loud in his ears, drowning out the world, and he was ready to finish what he'd started.

He was clear.

"Blair," he said, one word, one wish. One command, to call back what he'd lost. He said it again, and again, until he was screaming it. The medics came for him then, and he fought them off, fought free again to reach out and press his palms to the cold skin of Blair's face. There was pain in his throat and his chest that he ignored, pain in his heart that he released, pain everywhere. Every part of him burned with it.

It wasn't over.

It couldn't be over.

He'd never made his choice.

* * *

There was sound, and Blair recognized the sound, because it was Jim.

Jim. Oh, my friend. My friend. Jim...his cry sounded raw, and distant, and torn. Such fear in it, fear like Blair had never heard in a man's voice. A part of him sparked with a quiet need to answer with solace, and that part of him turned, and reached--

Another part, the part that hurt, drew back.

There had been pain enough, for now.

And so, for now, he drifted.

Silent, and still.

* * *

"Just back off!" Simon snapped, and Rafe and Brown and Connor surrounded him like angry hawks. The tide of medical personnel parted, a tide of dark blue that merged with that of his own uniformed men. He strode through them with determination, plucked one off Jim like she were no more than a wayward kitten, and set her down gently to the side. He registered her anger, made no apology, and focused himself on Ellison.

On Jim.

This was nothing he could understand, nothing like any death he'd ever seen, and there was something rising in him. Thundering, in his own chest, separate from the racing of his heart and the gasps that served, now, for breath. In his limbs it felt like a tingle of electricity; in the air it smelled like ozone; on his tongue it tasted wet and earthy and fresh.

And in his ears, it roared like the tumbling of a swift, distant river.

"Simon," Megan said, her reddened eyes burning out from the pallor of her skin. He could barely see her, didn't want to, didn't care. "What can we do?" It was hard to hear the river over the wrenching compassion of her voice.

Simon pushed her away, gently. Firmly. "Keep quiet," he ordered, knowing it was the right thing to say. "And keep them off us." She moved into position, and with a glance directed Rafe and Brown to their places. Simon spared a moment, just a moment, for gratitude. His people took up their silent vigil like automatons, standing immovable sentry for...

...Something.

Something big, and inevitable, born of love and need and duty.

He reached down, and closed his hand over Jim's shoulder, and the river screamed between them like the howls of the maddened dead.

* * *

The river.

The River. Yes.

It was like a dream Blair had never had, but now he could remember. He could hear it raging, but there was no water. The River wasn't made of water. It was made of time, and now the memories flowed faster, rushing into him from the outside, from deep within his heart. It was made of time and life and purpose, and it wasn't just one river, it was two, twining together, indivisible. Flying together, bound... and in the binding, freed.

This was the sound of his heart, lost amid the sounds of the jungle. In Peru he had heard it, in his delirium in the bright confines of concrete columns and gunfire he had heard it, in every shared moment of laughter and peace and pain, he had heard it, but he'd never answered its call.

Never let himself answer, so objective, so strong.

So incredibly blind.

Until now. And now he could hear it plainly, and he wanted it, wanted to drown himself in it, wanted to breathe it in, but the drifting, the drifting held him too tight, and the darkness was eternal, and he couldn't see--

* * *

Simon was struck numb with the force of white water raging inside him, unprepared for it. He was drawn into the circuit, humbled by the strength of their connection. He leaned into it from the outside, giving what he could, part of him lost in denial while the rest just did what was needful.

"Jim, are you sure--"

"You were there," he said, as if that made it all come clear. "You were with us in Peru. I was supposed to make a choice. I said I was ready, Simon, but they didn't let me take the step."

Simon nodded, not understanding. Not needing to, if Jim did. "Will he hear?".

"He'll hear me," Jim said. There was no room for doubt. This was fact, this was universal law. There was no place Blair could go that he would not _hear_ Jim.

"The medics said--"

"Doesn't matter." Jim ignored everything but the strength Simon offered, shutting the rest out. He couldn't spare the time or the breath for explanation; The river was too close, too far. He could feel it now, feel the ground beneath his knees trembling, the pounding of it resonating in his bones. He pulled Blair off the back board they'd strapped him to, pulled him tight against his chest. "Blair," he said softly. "I'm making that choice. I'm ready. Come back." He whispered, but the words exploded in his chest like firecrackers -- bright, hot, dazzling with color. His voice went lower, below the level of sound, just breath now. "I choose the River. I'll take the last step."

Just don't make me take it alone, he prayed, I can't. I deserve it, but I can't. Please...

The edge of the cliff in his mind's eye was beneath his feet, and the river rushed below, bright.

He pushed past the last of his fears, pushed through, and cast himself over the edge, into the mists, falling

flying

into the depths

toward home...

* * *

Let me go, Blair thought to the darkness around him. I can hear it. I choose. We both choose.

In a rush of light and fire and pain, the water rushed over him, into him, through. It took him with a force like breath, and owned him, and moved him... And there was brightness.

Swift, strong, motion and hurt and fear. The water was everywhere, it was his heart, and then it was air, and there was movement in his chest that burned and twisted, and he was _home_, sun pounding against closed lids, breath searing into him, _home_...

And Jim was there.

Jim.

* * *

"Blair. Oh, god. Blair. I chose, okay? I made my choice. I made it. C'mon, Blair, please, chief...one more.. yeah.. dear God, he's _breathing!_" Jim looked up, and the sun hit his eyes and it was beautiful, it was absolutely beautiful the way the sky just stayed there over them, and didn't come crashing down like he'd thought it would. He searched for a medic, he wanted one now, someone to tell. "He's _breathing!_ he shouted at the young, sweet-faced woman he'd shoved away moments ago, and laughed when her eyes widened. She fumbled with a stethoscope, like she wanted to use it on Blair, but he shoved her aside again. He was gentle this time, though, and his eyes were bright, and he could smile, a small, wondering smile..."Not like that," he told her, and the smile widened, and became something fierce and strong and solid shining out of his heart. "_Listen_," he said, an echo of Blair's favorite command, "Listen."

"I don't--"

"Shut up," Simon said then, not unkindly. Jim looked up at him, over his shoulder, and was unsurprised at the tears. There were tears on his own face, too.

"He's breathing, Simon," Jim said softly, and he saw the words take root in Simon's mind as an answering smile broke across his dark face, brighter than the sun and the sky. "I made my choice. He's breathing."

"Look," Simon whispered.

Jim turned.

And lost his heart.

* * *

The first thing he did was shove the chick with the stethoscope off him. She was cute, but it was cold and the metal was like ice on his skin. Come to think of it, his skin was feeling kind of frozen, too. Not to mention his feet.

What the hell happened to my shoes?

Blinking, gasping, Blair shuddered and felt something deeply wrong with his chest. He spasmed, turned his head to the side just enough, and vomited clear water into the grass beside his head. Hands held him, cradled him, and they weren't all that professional about it; in his vast experience with medical personnel, he'd noticed that hair stroking and reassuring whispers were not part of the job description. That left one candidate, Jim, for the owner of the chest he was cradled against -- which meant they were together, which meant everything was cool.

As long as the vomiting could stop now, please, thank you _very_ much.

"It's okay, chief, you just took in a lot of water, don't worry. I've got you. I made my choice. You're gonna be fine. Don't let go. I'm here..."

"Jim..."

"Hush, Blair, you shouldn't be talking. Just relax. It's okay now, I took care of it, I made the choice. I'm such an idiot. You just lay back.--"

Blair shook his head, grimacing at the heaviness of it and the slimy feel of cold, wet hair snaking down his neck. That fountain was probably full of chlorine. "Jim," he said, firmly, voice a hoarse rasp. Definitely chlorine.

"You--"

"Mine."

Seeing his partner blink, and fall silent, Blair tried to take a deep breath and burst into a bout of coughing. Stethoscope lady came back, and he pushed her away again.

"This is highly irregular," she snapped, backing off in a huff.

Blair smiled weakly. He wasn't going to get a phone number out of _that_ one.

Which, at the moment, didn't concern him at all. "Jim," he said again, for the last time because it hurt like hell to talk. Just a few more words and he'd be as quiet and still as they wanted. First, though -- he reached up, and anchored a hand around the back of Jim's neck. He ignored his partner's surprise, and pulled him down, close to his chest.

"Blair?" Jim's voice was a whisper, hushed, breathless. "Blair..."

He leaned close to Jim's ear, felt the wetness on Jim's face mingling with the wetness from his own. "My choice," he said softly.

"I don't--"

"My choice, too. I made it."

"Sandburg--"

Blair squeezed the back of Jim's neck, silencing him, and pulled him closer for just a moment. He wanted to make sure he was back, and Jim was there, and it was all real. Jim's arms tightened, warm and solid, strong.

"_I_ chose the River," Blair said clearly. He pushed back, and couldn't resist a grin. Jim's eyes were wide, bright.

Astonished. "But--" Confusion in that deep voice, surprise.

"Not everything is...just about _you_...Ellison..."

Dismay took over Jim's face, until a smile replaced it. It settled in, put down roots, grew fierce. Jim's eyes were brighter than Blair had ever seen them, and there was laughter there, amusement and joy. No questions survived that look; Blair returned it, reveled in it, and stored it away.

Jim's chin rested against the top of Blair's head, and he rocked unconsciously, compulsively. There was a grin in his partner's voice Blair could _hear_, but the tremor behind it belied the lightness of his words. "That's what _you_ think..."

Blair wanted to laugh, but didn't want to risk it, and in the end it didn't really matter. Jim leaned back, caught his eyes and laughed for him, a ringing, soaring sound that drifted into the high, bright sky of morning. Mingling with the relieved murmurs that rose and crested around them, it sounded almost like swiftly moving water.

Blair relaxed as he was lifted from Jim's arms by the medics, finally freed to do their jobs. Tired, exhausted and chilled to the bone, he closed his eyes.

Behind them, he still could see the River.


End file.
